


Stress Relief

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Stress Relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13821642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Could you write Richard being annoyed/pissed/frustrated because of his work, and reader gives him a bj to make him relax?'FYI: the thumb thing totally works.





	Stress Relief

“ _Ugh_!”

You look up just in time to see Richard throw the piece of paper over his shoulder as if he is in a _Peanuts_ comic strip.

“Hey. Pick that up,” you say, warningly, and he turns around on his chair, face a picture of ‘who the fuck are you even’. You’re not sure how he managed that specific look, but he has, from his tight, pale lips, to the arched eyebrows, to the way his hands are tensely gripping his spread thighs. “It’s going well?”

“Fuck being in two bands. Fuck being in one band. I am moving back to New York and becoming a taxi cab driver.” He spins around again, and you sigh, standing up. “Fuck writing songs. Fuck writing the guitar parts for songs. _Fuck_ -”

You squeeze his shoulders gently, and he sighs, throwing the pen down.

“I give up. Clearly my entire life has been just a fluke.” You continue massaging his shoulders, and he groans, leaning back into your touch. “God, that feels a lot less awful…” You lean in and kiss his neck, fingers trailing down over his chest, and he exhales, and when they keep going, massaging little circles over his stomach and down to his crotch, massaging him through his shorts, he bites his lip. “What are you doing? I mean… I know what you’re doing.”

“Stress relief,” you murmur in his ear, and step back, spinning his chair around before getting on your knees and undoing his shorts. He watches you, teeth still sunk into his lip, and you stroke him through his underwear, smirking up at him, before kissing his bulge.

“You’re amazing,” he says, and you nod, before pulling his semi-hard-on out of his underwear - he watches you, mouth open a little, green eyes intense, and you begin to stroke him, feeling him stiffen under your fingers.

“You’ve been driving me absolutely insane by ignoring me for pieces of paper all night,” you say, a little reproachfully, and he tilts his head, watching you carefully. “A piece of paper can’t do this.” You lick up the length of his dick, watching as he inhales sharply, and then take him in your mouth, licking him slowly as you do so.

His fingers tighten on the metal armrests of his computer chair, and you swirl your tongue, keeping your eyes fixed on his as you do so. He smirks a little, swallowing, and strokes your cheek.

“ _Tiefer_.” His chest is heaving under his white t-shirt - you wish you’d made him take his shirt off, actually, but you have enough real life visual reference to carry you through, and you stroke him as you suck him off, feeling one of his hands settle on your hair as you do so. He isn’t exactly pushing your head down onto him, but he is firm in his pressure, and his hips are rolling against your mouth, the occasional hissed intake of air between his teeth the only sound. “Babe, fuck…”

You swirl your tongue around him, and then take him to the back of your throat - you hope he doesn’t notice your iron grip on your thumb to prevent yourself from gagging, but to be fair, at that moment, Richard probably wouldn’t notice a carnival-painted jumbo jet crashing into the living room playing _Star-Spangled Banner_. He moans, thrusts getting more jagged, and you pull back, flickering your tongue against the tip of his erection; he grits his teeth, looking at you with his lip slightly snarled, and you take him in your mouth again, as far as you can.

“Holy fuck.” His voice is raspy and hoarse, and you go back to flickering your tongue against the head as you stroke him. “Oh my god, babe, I’m gonna cum in your mouth…”

You give him the thumbs up with your spare hand, and a few moments later, he grips your hair a little - he holds your head still and fucks your mouth hard, cumming with a moan of your name, and you swallow sharply. As he slumps back into the chair, panting, you sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and he grins at you.

“Okay. You… you are good stress relief.” He shakes his head. “Now… do you think you can write a song?”

Your response is to stand up, turn around, grab a cushion and throw it directly at him, and he laughs, standing up on wobbly legs and scooping you into his arms to wrestle you onto the sofa.


End file.
